and I laugh to
and I laugh to myself while the tears roll down, ‘cause it’s the world I know
My rep at Adams wants me to give up on my quest to find a job I love, no matter how much it pays. She says I could be making $32,000 - $38,000 for what I will only make $11 an hour doing if I stick with my goal of working with non-profits or arts organizations. Am I really being too picky? All I want to do is find a job in either a non-profit I care about or an arts organization or somewhere in the entertainment biz. I figure, if I’m going to be filing and phoning and mailing my life away, I might as well do it in a company I care about. I realize that it’s hard for people who aren’t involved in non-profit theatre to understand how important it can seem. While talking to her on the phone, I felt like I was an inch and a half tall. I mean, I love Stacy. She’s faboo, and she just doesn’t understand why someone who’s as qualified as I am doesn’t want a position where I’m paid what she feels I’m worth. She kept saying things like “If you want to work for a non-profit, you can volunteer. But do you really want to make $11 an hour for the next five years when you could be getting $16 an hour now?” I just felt like a shmo. I got so burned when we first got here and I took that job that I didn’t really care about… and I put so much on the line by quitting that crappy job to start temping. My whole goal was to temp until I found something I loved… but I’m starting to feel like that was a really naive thing to do. How many people in the world love their jobs? My guess is…not very many. Why should I feel like I deserve to have a job I adore? And who’s to say that I’ll ever find that elusive dreamjob? Maybe I should just give up the ghost and take some corporate ass-wiping job. That way, at least I would be able to pay my bills. I would be able to afford tickets to see OTHER people’s shows on the weekends. I’m just very quickly getting to the point where I don’t feel like I deserve a job I love. I need to get my nose out of the clouds and onto the grindstone. My dad never really enjoyed his job, but he DID it. That’s why it’s called “work” and not “play”. Right? Right?
I haven’t gotten a satisfactory answer to this question yet. Let me know what you think.